Iron Fist: Tekken (Short story)
by 69BeyondBirthday
Summary: A short-story pilot retelling what a classic Tekken story would look like with some new characters and classic Tekken characters; some of the main characters are new creations and the main purpose of this work is to emulate through its' title the classic Tekken vibe so as to not be hinged to getting perfect every detail of the story in the first three games. A new tale.
1. Chapter 1

_His slick, pointed hair punched a hole ever turning as he walked away, his only direction. Its' darting procedure to otherwise foes showed them their state as anathema to him, a grim reminder of the broken arm their friend just received._

 _He left the alley, undaunted, prompting that she asked him, "Just going to leave him like that?"_

 _He pulled his shades off to mutter only countenance to her, stating yes. At this the chapter began, the two leaving on their motorcycle. Leaving behind them was his skirmish with a brigand in the streets of Okinawa, one who was wielding a knife and thinking little of the slim man who put him in disrepair._ A look in his eyes mattered through his motorcycle helmet, burning fire as if to wake her up from the dream of these two leaving on the bike through Japan.

The piercing shadows were there, but so was the fiery blaze: she was awake in the sweat of her panting, something to the chagrin of an alarm clock not even reached in its' target. In her eyes was fear of the devil, but it bid her to a calm when she realized it was just a nightmare.

A few hours later she was downstairs as her oldest sister watched Fuse France and her youngest ate cereal. It was a cloudy morning in Paris, the essence of European rain possible for a day that didn't look of cloudburst. As she moaned through her empire of fatigue, D'elle was making certain that she was not in the talking mood. The former sister turned to see her younger, standing up to go over and hug her. She asked her sister if everything was alright, saying, "I heard you scream, but assumed it… was…"

In solemn and slow reply, she said, "… The devil, again." This alone prompted the youngest to come to her and join the embrace, saying, "I love you. No one's burning that in hell."

Slow to her gab, D'elle stated, "It's not the hell that's scary… it's that he's real."

The eldest of the three said, "We know. That's what we're here for."

Pulling away, Alané the youngest punched her right fist into her left open palm and said, "We've got this! There's no way we can't find him!"

"And kill him, right?", Essé the eldest closed out laughing. All three were laughing and from there D'elle said, "You guys are nuts. You know that?"

Alané pulled over the box of cereal and said, "Honey nuts."

All of a sudden there appeared on the television an ad glimmering dialogue, " _The King of Iron Fist Tournament starts here!_ "

As quick as it was on the television they pulled to it and from there their attention was fixed like a prize wanting its' victor. As they stared into it, D'elle could only rapture herself in the knowledge that her dark dream would soon be over for all of humanity.

 **IRON FIST: TEKKEN**

 **By Beyond Birthday 69/Shad73**

 _(Jessica appears as credit from 'Sephi')_

Her name was D'elle Haim, a resident of Paris, France who lived with her two sisters Alané and Essé. Unlike her sisters she was not a practicing Muslim, but she of the three of them most clairvoyantly received visions that they shared as siblings. What they were in touch with was not shared by humans other than themselves, at least not immediately.

It has often been said that in religious cultures essences divided along lines of light and dark would be drawn from the same place in the human spirit. These could be used to summon from the spirit world light or dark energy or even beings that personified themselves according to how that same human perceived the realm of the godly. These three sisters shared the essence of a being standing most as the antithetical counterpoint to the possessor of the Devil Gene, one which was originated from forbidden practices of Japanese Oni worship.

The origins of these girls' powers was a mystery to even themselves, the energy they shared as Sister Haim reminding them perhaps more of Christian sainthood or even the angelic than of their native Islam. Notwithstanding this, D'Elle's ability to greet Jew, Christian and Muslim alike as brothers and sisters was surprising considering her affirming stance in atheism. Prior to her inauguration as a more spiritually-powered fighter her visits on YouTube to Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens were differently and loudly followed, when talking to herself afterward; now her visits come with silence until the day she has killed the man most devil.

As D'Elle boarded the train by herself she was reading the French version of a book called _The Day We Began_ by Meredith Wingaersheek, a self-help text on the nature of accepting change: though she was often cynical about this type of literature she was willing to happen on any less cynicism than she as a millennial often had. The passage for the day of September 5th read as follows.

 _"While I can't presume any religious persuasions herein lying with the reader, I can often encourage that where there is a higher power (even if it's one's self) there is a belief in absolute truth. Sometimes our truth is shattered by events externally that become internalized and emotional traumas, such as make us calloused and hardened to the world without._

 _"We learn to close ourselves off from trusting new people and making new friends, things that are a component of life we can only be happy with if we love ourselves first. As we wake up in the morning we find ourselves with the heaviness of the past, knowing that if the sun doesn't shine we'll slip once again into those depressions and dry spells of dissatisfaction that only begins with ourselves. The truth is that we are never born with these dissatisfactions and can learn to shake them off with the religious component I am getting at: faith._

 _"Do you have faith in somebody? Do you have faith in a friend, or a family member that loves you? Make every effort to spend more time with them and don't be afraid of faith that one day you will be healed. Make sure it's even the least faith you have, because that will be as a mustard seed for ages to come. When you are faithful again, the old parts will slip away and create a most beautiful pair of butterfly wings. I can't pray for you like you can, but that's where I pray as writer what I am capable of. Go out and enjoy the world and most importantly, thank you for listening."_

Somehow, this was making her happier and a little voice from above said, "Excuse me, miss?"

Looking up she said to him, "Bonjour, how can I help?"

This young African-American with dreadlocks said to her, "May I ask you… Do you know where Marshall's Law is located?"

This made her look with instant happiness upon a charming young man with the biggest smile she ever saw. Before she answered she asked, "Before I answer, can I come with you? That's where I'm headed."

This young man from Compton, California was a surefire cherub of excitable joy; the slight lowering of his willful eyes indicated a depth and sincerity that was proven by years of war for the underground of his very soul, making this a more instant appeal to D'Elle Haim as they walked off the train.

At Marshall's Law Restaurant they were walking towards the entrance like two friends the lifelong; Marshall's was a stead located in San Francisco's Chinatown, somewhere she could visit through her reluctant use of magic and a state he already lived. It was America she often intended to escape to the most, because she could not be understood. However, it was situations like this her wonder of another world got the best of her and revealed how capable of communicating she actually was.

As they took a seat she said, "So Kendrick, do you come here often?"

He said, "Well, I am training to go into the King of Iron Fist Tournament. I'm traveling under the name I use for battle rapping, 'Proof.'"

"'Proof?' Isn't that the name of Eminem's dead friend from D12?"

"That's why I add 'Worth' at the beginning, form my full name. Kendrick Cepé Worthington."

"… 'Cepé'... are you French in ancestry?"

He replied with a teasing poke of his nose, suddenly ushering in a sentence fusing Haitian Creole and French to confuse the young lady like no one else's business. She approximated, "Haitian, rather. Sorry."

He stated, "Well, actually, I'm not Haitian, but my great uncle is. I'm mainly African, but I have practiced Creole phrases and French to win over cute ladies like yourself."

"Get out", she teasingly deflected. It was clear that they both thought each other were cool, Kendrick clowning her with his charismatic and jovial banter and her seeming unusually at odds with her often reserved demeanor. She then said, "So you're 'Worth Proof?'"

With his little hands tossing up he said, "Proof. Worth Proof. I go by these names interchangeably."

"Why do I get the feeling that you're in the tournament for something… important?"

Smiling with a quick glance he asked, "What?"

"Oh, I just wonder. Why do I feel like you are in this for… for the right reasons?"

It was here he could remark at an instant her intellect regarding the King of Iron Fist. The founder of the tournament Heihachi Mishima had a rumored ill repute for inside actions of his Mishima Zaibatsu that provoked government curiosity, such as ties afforded to syndicated crime that provoked umbrage where applicable. This was certainly no different in California, where the Bloods and Pirus were capable of affording weapons now bigger than their usual semis. California's disaster couldn't be touched without the multinational infrastructure that Heihachi himself had. Payoffs and government briberies were the least of these.

Kendrick said, "My dear, we're all in it for something bigger. It's Heihachi we're talking about."

She leaned in to say to him, "I'm in it…"

This turned to a whisper as her words became, "… to kill his son."

Falling away from the other side of the table, he asked, "He has a son? What's his name?"

With hesitancy she revealed, "Veiji."

For a few seconds he was thinking to himself and then he said, "Lemme guess. Instead of those two hair-pointies that Heihachi got, he got one like that motherfucker Vegeta!"

Both of them were instantly dying laughing, himself standing up at the table like a little king of the hill and bellowing the Rock the Dragon theme quietly, "'Dragon Ball Z!', my…"

Like that their food arrived and she said, "We'll talk more after the Rangoon. Want some chicken dumplings?"

Taking up his spoon, he said to her comically, "Baby, I'm gonna butter your bread."

"Los Angeles… Los Angeles, Los Angeles, Los Angeles."

The wall slams and like so, he states, "My name is Smith Myers. I am the head of the Shi No Geijutsu division of the United National Karate Study in Los Angeles and I am pissed off. That Japanese name I just gave you? That's the style of karate I teach and it is not some toy for a competition."

Letting go of his student's gi, he furthered his speech saying, "We avoided that bastard Heihachi's stupid devices until today, when some idiot had to go dress in a fucking Mohawk and act like he was speaking for all of us. I'm about to change that and when I'm done with him, I am leaving the competition. They can keep the prize money."

As he circled the room a bit further from where he stood, his student said, "I know how you feel: what kind of doofus calls himself 'Art of Dying?' As an alias? He must think he's Armor King, or something."

Another of Smith's students said, "I never got why there were two Kings. What's next, a third King?"

This speech alone not the aggravator, Smith yelled, "Enough! I just want that bastard back here in one piece so I can show him what the real art of dying is."

Smith was obviously very perturbed that his own pupil John Heather could walk so callously into the heart of a competition that was always avoided by the Shi No Geijutsu school. Like a tall tower of hearty muscle, this long-haired red raven of a man was contemplating his trek to the heart of the competition, one he forbid for so long to his students. He often declared how the person who fought in Tekken from his division would be exiled from the school, given his attitude's contrast to the greater liberality and acceptance of the competition of the UNKS. With that said, he yelled, "Jessica! Get down here!"

-Fin


	2. Chapter 2

_She sat in her gi, Smith and her reflexively stayed across the valley of the dojo floor. Each was at a distance from each other in meditation, their breathing exercises the most primary of their priorities. As she was deep in her thoughts, the subject at hand was almost thought of with one mind._

 _Breaking their silence her reverend teacher Smith Myers asked her, "Did you know that Heather was leaving for the tournament?"_

 _She replied somewhat curiously, "I tried to stop him. The reason why I didn't go further and make sure he couldn't escape was because…"_

 _"... 'Because' what?", he chanted with a horse's brood. This ultimately pulled her up to finish, "I saw something in his eyes that told me he was doing this for more than it seemed, like he was trying to save somebody."_

 _This made the once passionate Smith seem to steady, his supple heaves turning once again to gusts. He rebounded, "The man spoke of his honor and devotion to us as a martial arts family. Granted, we aren't a temple on the hills of Osaka; at least not anymore. We don't possess anything beyond a school and an alliance with one of the largest foundations for martial arts in the world. Shi No Geijutsu is not well advertised by a man who calls himself 'the Art of Dying' when the art is to create life."_

 _Standing to his feet and silently stepping behind her while erect and tall, she motioned her eyes to pry from their corners as he continued, "He always said 'the art of dying is my way to live.' You talk about how he used to remind you of the Pauline Biblical precept of mortifying the flesh, condemning one's pride for the sake of others and damning one's ego._

 _Slowly but surely he reminded, "There's no shame in believing that and affirming it through words, but actions are the loudest vessel of one's opinions… I have no opinion except that he should leave our name out of this. It would be one thing if this were the UFC. I wouldn't give a damn. Still, he knows that Heihachi Mishima is a devil. That whole family is cursed and I would've killed myself, had I known I were his son."_

 _Under her breath she could not help but think how intense and on some level humorous it was to hear her sensei say that. Standing to his height, she and him were locked in the same gear until it came time to turn around and have each others' forearms clash. This provocation referenced that there was behind them to jump back; Jessica cartwheeled from her ambivalence to new furor, him jumping in his white gi like a famous samurai._

 _These two made their first move, her dashing to him with a high-speed volley of Tae Kwon Do-focused punches and a couple of kicks. He blocked each one with resilience while picking his lower legs off the ground to signal he was making a habit of her attack patterns. Her last kick was landed upon with a shin of his own pushing hers to the utter side of him, then forcing a flat palm out to her shoulder and knocking her a few steps back._

 _Smith gathered himself into a spin on the floor that allowed him to assume position once more, Jessica doing the same with a graceful pirouette of her hands; this allowed her to put them on the floor and dive from them with a flying kick. Rendering his block Smith was franchising with a masterful kick that caught hers just the same. The two would assume karate positions that neither clashed nor mesh in their trading of punches, the attacks ever turning as wheels. A punch to his left arm resulted in him pushing it away with his right arm, in a manner almost reminiscent to her native Tae Kwon Do._

 _He lambasted her youth with a dramatic lower kick and this caused her to step away with each new one that he brought. The last one was a feint resulting in a punch making its' way to her stomach, one such as forced her to fall backwards; this only aligned him with confusion as her fall allowed her to kick away his hand. Pushing with an Aikido-reminiscent roll she suddenly leaped up with conviction. This stare of her very being was that of her finding new balance in the air, her kicks now a walking on his platform._

 _With each new dive that came he found himself blocking her volleys and shuffling her feet as if they were cards. She hardly turned around except to change feet, this leaping as rocks on a beach; thinking to himself on how to break away from what seemed tract in focus, he found enough reserve and mental secrecy to be able to duck perhaps lower._

 _One final amplification of her kick forced her yell, but his rise to her position was marked with him forcing out a palm while in place. This came with a yelled signal of what he had in mind, as he threw his other hand from behind and yelled as the comet arrived._

 _This masterful pile drive accentuated from his very being that she could not escape him. Like so, she was slammed into the wall as if a rodeo bull hit her; this sliding from her body's cradle to the floor's grave was not without the floor catching perfectly her two feet. Walking over to her stressed bane, he let a few seconds pass before finally giving her his hand. This prompted she look up at him and his smile was there all along. He said, "You passed the test."_

 _She asked him with slight curiosity as to what he meant, "What test?"_

 _He said, "I would've thought you knew… welcome to Tekken. You're coming with me."_

 _This ultimate offer could not be turned down, her pause only indicating that she was enthralled with his happiness the same. She grabbed his hand and made eye contact with him again as he put his arm around her shoulder, saying, "Thanks, Smith."_

Standing outside a bar in San Fransisco., D'Elle was scuffling her fingers across a drag as he stood nearby playing what appeared to be Pac-Man on Facebook Messenger. The silence of the night was a stark contrast to the city itself, a clear indicator of the neighborhood they were in as it sat slightly removed from the most lighted of action taking place. Almost impressionistic, the variety of this eve had its' share of what without mist was still cool. As he was repeatedly failing to get every dot, he asked, "So why do you want to kill Heihachi's son?"

This only turned him to her and it was clear she did not want to give the answer right away. Looking to him and throwing away her smoke she said, "The son of Heihachi is the possessor of a recessive gene in the Mishima family line that allows a hidden power… long ago, there was a sect of devil worshippers in Japan who successfully tied a blood curse to five children born to them by concubines. It was because of the sheer superstition of Shinto-led samurai that they were instructed to slaughter these babies and only two were said to have made it down the rivers that day."

The brusque and sometimes unsolicited flying of the cars could not cover her speech as she said, "One of them would have to pass down from generation to generation an art of controlling one's devil; this was only granted possibility when there were generations who were born with it as recessive and ultimately, count was lost up until the turn of the twentieth century. It was here that Jinpachi Mishima realized his power in the heat of combat training as a soldier, coming and fathering a son who he noticed would be born without the gene. However, Heihachi inherited a cruelty that no possessor of the devil gene ever had. This led him to bury his father underneath a temple in hopes that he could gain his power.

Kendrick seemed quite intrigued as she opened, "Finally, when a son was born to him her threw him off a mountainside in his childhood, hoping that this would leave a psychic fissure deep enough to summon his beast. Veiji was thought dead, but Heihachi knew better."

Proof innocently admired and asked her, "You think maybe Veiji knows better? That his father was evil?"

Her light head shifted to look down and she said, "I have nightmares of him. I don't see a good man."

Walking over to her and looking at her tilted forehead he said, "Sometimes good people show up in bad dreams… I have them all the time."

Adamant in her resolve. This couldn't be more clearly seen as his eyes gave a little more hope, grabbing her hand to say to her, "I see people die all the time. Homies and hoods playing the same game… I don't think a good kid could grow up in a mad city, but then I hear people say that 'King Kendrick gonna kill 'em!'"

She asked, "How is that good? You're going to kill everyone in the tournament?"

"Flawless victory." As she was giggling, he said to her, "Veiji isn't born evil. Neither am I. Look in my eyes."

Turning to face him, she could only see the same resolution she met earlier that day; cancelling out protest, she let herself be asked, "Do you start wanting to kill somebody because you saw them in your nightmare? You may be some kind of angel, for all I know; still, I want to meet this kid and tell him he has a chance. I don't care if he's good or bad, because I feel like there needs to be someone like him to hear me say something, even if it means nothing to him."

She asked him, "Do you realize how naïve you sound? This is not a matter of someone who can change their mind. This is someone scarred for life and from what I get in my dreams, it's as wide as the valley he was thrown from."

"I know. I only ask you these questions because I believe you're telling the truth."

This made her look intently into him like a soul mirrored her; his optimism seemed to hide nothing but who he really was, the manicure of their differences falling wayside. In fewer short bursts he exclaimed, "This kid may need to die; I will be praying for him, though. I pray because I think he's the one who's supposed to win. No matter how evil he is, it might be easier to cooperate with the devil when he's simply reading from the same book as we are."

"Are you listening to yourself? I don't think I can take you seriously, anymore", she playfully intoned. This only caused him to say, "I don't think I am serious. In fact, I don't think I've been telling you my secret. I… am Batman."

Both of them giggled to the extent that they started teasing one another in each other's arms; it was clear how much they already liked each other, but not one second ever indicated much more than that. All of a sudden a great lumbering arose from what appeared to be a limousine. The giant steps caught their attention as the tractorlike boots cupped the ground outside the club; Kendrick and D'Elle looked up, both of them in awe with patrons as Proof muttered, "It… can't be… it's…"

The legendary eyes peering from behind his mask only suggested a genius of combat; like a legendary vessel of nature become man, this evolution made his way under the hood of his jacket. As he walked inside, D'Elle and Proof followed as this apparition caught everyone's attention.

Walking to the scenic and cosmic bar through a dissimilitude of low and colorful lights, he let out a sheer roar from his fangs that indicated great thirst. There obviously lay with him that his words would be understood regardless, as it was none other than the almighty wrestler King himself.

 _-Fin_


	3. Author's Notes before Chapter Three

Author's Notes before final chapter

Hey, guys, what's up? This is Nick, also known as BeyondBirthday69; I'm the author of _Iron Fist: Tekken_ , which is an attempt to try and tell a story with a classic Tekken vibe. The reason why I have chosen to create some new characters that use familiar names in addition to using the classic Tekken characters (Baek Doo San is the father of Jessica, King appears, Marshall Law appears, et cetera) is because I want to tell something that can get close to the telling of a Tekken story without feeling bound to make something that would honestly end up like _Tekken: The Motion Picture_.

Without giving too much background, _Iron Fist: Tekken_ was an idea I came up with when I thought of what it would be like to create an online game that was very much like a Tekken game from Tekken 4 upward; this let me feel like I could create new characters as you've seen, people like Proof/Worth Proof (who's clearly inspired by Kendrick Lamar), Sister Haim (who's based on the band Haim) and others. I'm trying this out as a short story so I can have it as a placeholder for when I decide to expand it.

Here are some things to know about what I've done to change the story to fit my goal:

· Veiji is Heihachi's son and right now his motives are completely unknown. I don't want his true motive to be revealed until the end of the story, so personality-wise he's an amalgam between aspects of Kazuya and Jin.

· The Haim sisters are his rivals; the avatars of the spirit of Angel, who is meant to fight him.

· Veiji's accomplice is a Williams girl who is kind of the Nina Williams of this story; they aren't romantic interests of any sort, so I wouldn't get your hopes up. There will be romance, but Veiji will be portrayed in a very straightforward fashion so as to note his mission: to kill his father Heihachi, the man who threw him off the cliff.

· There will be classic Tekken characters, but some may exist in the form of new characters created off their likeness.

· Finally, Jessica is a shared character created by my partner on Dragonball Intellectuals' YouTube page, Sephi; I am Jake101 on that channel and my own channel, so you know where to find both of us and possibly even subscribe! We talk about Dragon Ball and other related subjects!

The story is what conceptually would be what the Incredible Hulk 1970s series tried to do for the Hulk, albeit with a classic fighting game franchise; its' David Banner is meant to help keep the Bruce intact and I feel as though if I wanted to imagine this as anything, it would be an anime or a live action that made clear what liberties it had taken. I feel like the attempt of the Tekken franchise to move outside of its' videogames in the form of movies and the like has been met with too much criticism and that just seems to happen too often to videogames. Not believing the stories' ability for expression outside of their original medium is doomed, I think this story is meant to solicit what I'd be trying to do on an independent level if I had the resources. I'm just having fun and I hope I can give you all the same: enjoy the final chapter for now and if I think it's worth my time, you'll be seeing more of this story! Have a wonderful day!

 _-NK, 3:35 P.M._


End file.
